Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  I hurried to my Jeep, retrieving the keys from the center console, and started the engine. I replayed what had just transpired, and I made up my mind: I would protect Connell, hunt the dracwulf, and find Enre on my own. Botolf, Radu, and Matias followed orders, so they couldn’t be counted on. But I needed some alone time with Radu regarding the elixir. Sandulf and Lutia were a different matter. I refused to give into the alpha’s threats.

  I swerved with the bend of the dirt road, and the movement revived the stink at my side. The sensation that my injury split open, held together only by the bandages, flashed in my mind. I touched the wound, and pulled away fresh blood, dribbling down my fingers.

  Romania’s Animal Research Institute lay near. The clock flashed 5:45 P.M., and fortunately the place would be abandoned. Anyone who saw me dressed like the Hulk would ask questions, and I wasn’t in the mood, especially from my boss.

  Entering the building via the rear access with my keys, I quickened my walk, cringing with each step, and grabbed the first aid kit from the storeroom.

  I tiptoed past an empty reception area, down the vacant corridor, into my office, decked out in wooden walls and flooring. Then I dove into the first aid kit. Clenching my jaw, I removed the sodden bandage and cleaned the excess blood with the clean edges. In haste, I wrapped a dressing around my waist and ignored the shooting pain down my leg. After encasing myself with three rolls, I stashed the kit under my desk and lowered myself into my chair, waiting for the pain to subside.

  My life changed so much in the course of a few days. Connell would be panic-stricken by my disappearance, and I yearned to crawl into his arms. Sandulf might target him to teach me a lesson. Enre remained lost, and I had no idea how to tackle the dracwulf on my own. And I still had no elixir to take me away from Sandulf’s barbarian leadership.

  The door swung open, and I don’t know who was more surprised, Vasile or me. My boss entered the room with two boxes in his arms, sneaking more crap into my office. At fifty-seven years of age, Vasile had no intention of retiring. Communism had made him hard. Thinning mud-brown hair floated on his scalp and bunched thick above his ears without a strand of gray. I often wondered if he dyed his hair to maintain a youthful appearance.

  “I didn’t hear you come in today.”

  Straightening myself, I smoothed down my hair. There was little I could do about the clothes I wore, or the blood on my top and arms, even if I did resemble a hobo off the street. I remained behind my desk. “Sorry.”

  His expression softened when he eyed the blood on my arm.

  “I’ve had some personal problems.” Partial truth sounded convincing, I hoped.

  He piled the boxes on a stack already threatening to tumble over should anyone walk too close. Not the right time to complain, I reminded myself.

  Shutting the door, he took a seat across from me. He wore the same blue suit from last week, and his white shirt revealed the smudge of accumulated sweat on the collar. No one was perfect.

  He leaned forward, his arms over the desk. “What happened?”

  Instead of telling him some great lie, I broke down and cried. It was embarrassing — that comes with weeping in public.

  After wiping away the last tears with a tissue from my drawer, I met Vasile’s staid eyes. “I had an argument with my family.” Saying it aloud lightened my shoulders.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t my blood. I suppose you could say I got a bit angry.”

  His voice held a hint of humor. “Appears so.”

  On the inside, I laughed at Lutia nursing a bloody nose and broken finger. “I suppose.”

  “Families can get tripped up over trivial things. There is a bond and love between families so intense it can easily be tipped over the fence into hate’s garden.”

  Vasile’s poetic description made little sense. I nodded anyway.

  “One thing you can be certain of is that family members will be the first to forgive and take you back. Sometimes it takes a bit of time.” He reclined in his chair. “I myself have a brother whom I have not spoken to in thirty-three years, over a dim-witted fruit tree. I still hope that one day we will reunite.”

  Vasile’s smile was magical and his delusional belief in humanity heartening. “I can tell you’re a fighter. Stay strong.”

  A fresh sense of calm and inspiration splashed over me.

  “I spoke with the police. I’m very disappointed to hear they question your expertise. You’re one of my best animal specialists. Fill me in, Daciana.”

  “I attended a murder scene on Friday with a police inspector.”

  He nodded his head. “Yes, I heard.”

  “On Saturday I attended two new murder scenes, and the same animal was responsible for the killings. All three murders were of people I knew, but I have no idea why a rogue wolf attacked them.” Honesty made my life easier.

  He said nothing for a while, just scratched his chin and stared at me. “Fill out the field work, including your recommendation to the police, and bring it to my office today.”

  I looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s past six o’clock. Can I give it to you first thing tomorrow morning?”

  “No.” Vasile’s face twisted into a frown. “Dealing with the police is serious business.”

  I resisted yelling, as no amount of rationale would make him understand the police no longer followed Communist regulations. Romanian people fell into two categories: the new or the old generation. The older age group still feared the government and police, and it appeared Ceausescu still dictated their lives, even from his grave.

  Without another word, Vasile walked out.

  Chapter Twelve

  I drove into the city with a sore hand. Vasile did not believe in modern technology and insisted all reports be handwritten. In truth, Vasile had taken a chance on me — an intern with no previous experience, but with my knowledge of mammals, he appointed me as the institute’s behavioral specialist. To cover himself, he signed me up for a load of training that earned me a certificate and justified my right to hold the job. He took a risk on me, so I resisted outright questioning how he ran the institute or the decisions he made. So, I did things in a roundabout way.

  In the document, my recommendation prohibited the police from hunting wolves in the Carpathian Mountains based on the endangerment of animals who might be killed in the process. If Vasile followed his usual routine of providing the authorities with whatever they wanted, then there was a danger of the dracwulf killing some of the police. That meant potential exposure to the pack if the animal was caught. I spent a bit of time scouring the aerial maps of the mountains, searching for any spots where the dracwulf might have set up her den. I planned to track those locations that very night.

  But first, I had to check on Connell.

  At the front door of my apartment, I paused, surrounded by the odors of curry cooking in a neighbor’s kitchen mixed with an undercurrent of rotting garbage from the bins. No wulfkin scent. For some reason, I expected company.

  A nippy coldness hugged the apartment, reminding me of an incident from years earlier in the pack house. Radu had placed a fresh rabbit, fur and all, straight onto the fire logs and in no time, a heavy smoke billowed through the pack house. We slept with the windows and doors wide open that night, and awoke to Botolf’s fearful shouts from the main room. We found a brown bear, on hind legs, near him, snarling. We used raw meat from the kitchen to lure the animal out of the house, before it made a meal out of Botolf. Yeah, bears were deadly, but the incident was funny, and we never let Botolf forget how he squealed. Such memories would haunt me once I left the pack.

  I strode inside and ignored the madness inside my head. If I ignored it long enough, it might leave me alone. The descending sun cast long shadows across the wooden floor. I headed straight to the fridge and
took a raw T-bone steak, tearing a chunk off with my teeth. Two more chews and the first morsel slid down my throat, whole. I devoured the meat in record time, tossing the clean bone into the bin, and licked my lips.

  The answering machine’s red blinking light caught my eye, and the number nine flashed. Connell had left more frantic messages. That’s when I realized I’d left my cell at home. Crap. I decided to visit Connell. I missed him, and he deserved an explanation of my whereabouts, even if I hadn’t settled on an excuse yet.

  Later, when the city slept, I’d visit Radu in his bunker, and then hunt the dracwulf. I’d learned enough from Enre to hunt on my own, and in moonwulf form I’d proven my strength was beyond most of the pack’s ability. Two more nights before the Lunar Eutine and my life changed forever. For that reason I couldn’t allow anything to stand in my way.

  After a quick wash, I dressed in jeans and a black blouse with long sleeves, zipped up my black hiking boots and left the apartment.

  The streetlights flicked on, and a breeze blew past me. I crossed my arms and avoided bumping into a group of young boys dominating the walkway and reeking of plum vodka. Fewer people roamed the streets along the lanes behind the main roads. The older districts were home to residents who lived there for generations. Potholes adorned the cobblestone paths while the concrete houses revealed cracks and rainwater discoloration trails, and dislodged chips of rubble had fallen onto the walkway.

  Across the road I spotted a black rectangular sign with two taggers and the words Barul Noapte, which translated into “night bar”, blazoned in red. Similar to other nearby buildings, dilapidation threatened the tavern. Black paint peeled off the wooden frames encasing the door and window, revealing a pale timber. Connell often mentioned the pub was a regular stopover after work, and I hoped to find him there; otherwise I’d continue on to his house.

  I eased over the curb, waiting for a car to pass. Boot heels thumping, I hurried to the edge of the pub window and stole a glimpse inside. Candlelight lit the shadowy room. Bowls of peanuts decorated each table and a few patrons occupied the benches. I spotted golden hair and recognized Connell. He slouched alone at the bar. My stomach tingled.

  I prepared to barge in when I noticed Connell standing up. He walked through a doorway with a toilet sign. That was my cue. I entered and the odors hit at once — smoke, alcohol, and perspiration. I bit my lip and hurried toward the bar as peanut shells crunched beneath my steps, and I struggled against the impulse to run out.

  I hopped onto Connell’s swivel stool and waited for his return. I had no idea how he would react and hoped for the best. After all, I’d disappeared for the weekend after he witnessed Enre fight the dracwulf.

  Fumbling with my hair, I slipped the strands off my face and tugged my puffy sleeves. I twirled in the chair and observed the other people in the pub. A couple of beefy men wearing blue overalls stared at their empty beer glasses in front of them. Four seedy boys lingered near the pool table, chuckling and pushing each other in a ritual to establish rank. No different from a wolf pack.

  In the far left corner dwelled a lone figure with a black-hooded jacket. Slim, orange-stained fingers clasped the quarter-filled glass of ginger alcohol.

  “Hey, miss.” A low male’s voice spoke from behind me, his words run together. “What’ll ya ’ave?”

  I spun in my seat and faced the bartender across the counter. He wore a tightly fitted black T-shirt with rolled sleeves, and his thick arms could wrestle a tiger. He was the epitome of brawn, perhaps no older than twenty-five or twenty-six.

  “Sorry?”

  He slowed his rushed words. “What would you like to drink?” The bear-shaped man leaned against the bar.

  I inhaled his beer-infested breath and held his stare, unable to make a decision.

  The boys at the pool table erupted into a concoction of hoots and screams. The bartender’s gaze flicked over my shoulder. “Oi. Put the stick down.”

  For a full-sized man, he moved fast. One boy threw a punch and the other tackled him. The bartender grabbed a handful of hair and yanked them apart. One boy stumbled backward, and the bear-man’s hand clutched the other boy’s shirt, bringing him to his face. “Get the bloody ’ell out of ’ere!”

  With his three friends scrambling out of the pub, the culprit wriggled free and ran after them.

  Footsteps approached from behind. Connell’s voice surprised me. “Decided to pop out from your hiding hole, hey?” For a moment, I had forgotten where I was, or why.

  Rotating on my seat, my gaze swept upward over his white business shirt and locked onto to his mocha eyes. Golden stubble graced his face. I liked the rugged style, yet the dejected look in his expression and slumped posture added to my regret for letting him agonize over me.

  Uncertain how to respond, I found my voice and sought a firm tone. “I’m dying of thirst here.”

  He said nothing at first. I guessed he contemplated whether to barrage me with questions or ease his way into the conversation.

  He took a seat across from me. “Where have you been?”

  I yearned to tell Connell everything. My heart fluttered at the idea of disclosing information no human should ever know. Enre and I hunted a dracwulf to conceal our existence in accordance with wulfkin rules. When hell broke loose, no wulfkin offered help, only humans. Funny, that.

  “Something big came up.”

  His eyes rolled back, and he gave a slight shake of his head, the kind that told me he’d had enough. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I’ve been out cold for the past two nights. I’m sorry.”

  “What do you mean, out cold?” His brow pinched.

  “I don’t want to talk about it here. I really need a drink, please.”

  I sensed movement and cocked my head around. The bartender returned to his post, staring at us.

  Connell turned to him. “Daci, this is Jai Hawkins from Australia. He’s been backpacking through Eastern Europe but can’t seem to leave Braşov. I’ve been stuck with him here for the past couple months.”

  Jai leaned forward and patted Connell’s shoulder. “He’s the only customer who hasn’t been in a fistfight yet.”

  “Jai, this is Daci.”

  “Good to meet you,” Jai addressed me with a joyous smile. “What’s your drink?”

  “Vodka, straight.”

  Connell was quick to add, “Place it on my tab.”

  Jai set the drink on the bar and disappeared into the restroom.

  I swallowed the clear, crisp beverage, which heated my insides the instant it touched my throat. Connell’s attention remained on me with a blank expression. I missed hearing his throaty laugh, the way it calmed and excited me at the same time.

  “I thought I was going mad these past two days.” He reached out to finger a lock of my hair off my cheek. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  My heart thumped against my chest. “That’s why I’m here.”

  His head tilted to the side. A sense of urgency passed between us, and I threw back the vodka, even if it did go straight to my head. I slid off the seat, and Connell was already leading me out.

  Outside the pub, he tucked his arms into his pockets and we strolled toward his home, passing convenience stores and cafes, one after another. The quiet between us was uncomfortable and painful, when all I wanted was to jump into his arms and have him tell me everything will turn out okay. White townhouses with slate-colored roofs lined the footpath ahead, and the occasional tree or flowerbed adorned the front yards.

  Connell said, “It’s good to see you’re okay.”

  “I’m sorry for everything.”

  He gave no response, just kept walking.

  His house came into view in the distance, and in that split second I panicked over what reasonable explanation I’d give about the dracwulf without soun
ding crazy. I needed to spin a small lie and make it convincing in case the truth ever spilled, even if the idea of lying to Connell irritated me to no end.

  We rounded the path to his townhouse and entered inside. Connell strolled into the kitchen and flicked on the lights, revealing three chairs alongside a white-and-gray marbled bar.

  I pressed my hip into the couch, remembering Enre from the other night, when he was still alive. Was he somewhere in the woods, maybe dead? I took a deep breath, locking away the raw emotions stabbing my chest. I glanced at the bookshelf concealing rum bottles and in the opposite corner was an overgrown potted plant with enormous palm-like leaves.

  “I have juice, beer, spirits, or water. No vodka.” Connell called from the kitchen.

  I joined him. “Water’s fine.”

  Retrieving a clear bottle from the fridge, he reached up and collected two empty glasses from the cupboard, then settled onto a stool. Following his lead, I sat next to him and grabbed my full glass.

  He studied his tumbler, running a finger down the perspiring glass. “What’s going on with you and with us?” A long breath escaped from his mouth. “Your sudden disappearance this weekend, your friend’s strange behavior — like he was more than a friend — and everything from that night seemed wrong, like I was missing something. I felt like an idiot.”

  My skin iced over, and my pulse thundered in my ears. His gorgeous face tightened, and his eyelids lowered as he said, “I feel like I’m just getting to know you. I don’t like secrets, but I’m so in love with you that I’m struggling to walk away. And what scares me is that I might be heading right into a wall with my eyes wide open.”

  My voice softened. “Don’t say that.” I felt like the tug-o-war rope between Connell and wulfkin troubles, each needing my attention, and me refusing to give up on either of them.

  He lifted his head. His hand cupped the side of my face and his thumb swept the tears from beneath my eye. I inhaled his warmness.

  He said, “Please tell me the truth, no matter how bad you think it is. I can take it. But I can’t take any more lies.”